


How The Mighty Have Fallen

by Feralious



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Religious, Domestic, Fallen Angels, M/M, Religious Content, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-06
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 23:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/627894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feralious/pseuds/Feralious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After breaking one too many heavenly rules, Dominion Tiago is sent down to Earth to live as a mortal. In the midst of a raging blizzard James, a retired agent from MI6, finds him and takes him in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How The Mighty Have Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt:
> 
> Silva is a fallen angel and 007 retired to the village from “the girl with the dragon tattoo” so 007 finds silva and takes him in. I just really want “fallen angel silva”
> 
> (Wikipedia: The Dominions [...] regulate the duties of lower angels. [...] The Dominions are believed to look like divinely beautiful humans with a pair of feathered wings, much like the common representation of angels.)

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

_It’s too late, Tiago._

It’s a voice coming out of nowhere, but Tiago knows just who it belongs to. It’s the one voice that is to always be obeyed, although Tiago hadn’t always been very compliant with the rules.

“I beg of you, please don’t –”

_I have warned you and you will not listen. You have had your last chance. You will be sent down to Earth where you will live as a human. I will take your wings and your name. Farewell, Tiago._

The next thing he knows he’s lying on his back, cold air hitting his lungs. He’s freezing and he scrambles to his feet in fear, unfamiliar with the unpleasant sensation.

Heaven had never been cold, after all.

 

He wandered around, feet freezing and soaked wet; if he’d realized he was now just a mere mortal he’d have feared for his health. After what must’ve been hours of roaming the snowy streets – he seemed to have entered a town, although a sudden blizzard made it very hard to see – he finally recognized the silhouette of a human being.

He’d have called out, but his voice had grown weak and suddenly his legs wouldn’t carry him anymore. He sunk to his knees, vaguely noting the other person approaching him.

“Are you all right?”

He couldn’t answer, he just wanted to get out of the snow, out of the cold.

A hand was extended to help him up and he clasped it, feeling a little sorry for the other person who had to carry pretty much all of his weight.

 “What’s your name?”

He surprised even himself at the name rolling off his tongue.

“Silva.”

 

When he becomes more aware of his surroundings he’s no longer feeling like he might die any second. He’s still cold, but it’s manageable now; he’s lying on a couch wrapped in a warm blanket.

“You feeling better?” the man entering asks upon seeing his opened eyes.

Silva nods, accepting the hot mug of coffee that is handed to him. He’s never had it before, but apparently it’s very popular on Earth, according to lower angels.

He makes a face upon drinking it; it’s much too bitter to his taste.

The man laughs. “Would you like some sugar, milk?”

“Sure,” Silva – is his name really Silva now? – says hesitantly.

The new coffee tastes much better – whatever sugar and milk may be, it’s good – and he settles back into the pillows, warming his hands around the mug. His gaze flickers around the room and settles on the blond man looking at him.

“What is your name, exactly?” he asks him.

“James.”

“Is this your home, James?”

“Yes, but feel free to stay until you’ve recovered. We probably won’t be able to get you to the hospital through this blizzard.”

Upon seeing the look on his face James grins. “You’re not intruding, I have too much time on my hands nowadays. Besides, I’ll warn you that if you try anything funny, you’ll regret it.”

Silva smiles. “Thanks, it’s most kind of you.” Then he sneezes.

James walks over to him, feeling his forehead. “You’re burning up,” he remarks.

Silva shrugs. “I feel fine now.” Really, he does.

“Sure…” James eyes him suspiciously. “I’m still taking you to the hospital once the blizzard is over.”

He turns around and leaves the room again, leaving Silva on his own.

Or at least he thought he was, until a deep, dark voice suddenly spoke up, causing him to jump and spill some of his coffee.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

“Who’s there?” Silva demanded, looking around. There was nobody to be seen, it had to be someone from up there. But the shivers that voice caused him, the hair standing on the back of his neck told him something different.

“You know who I am.”

No one Silva had ever talked to had sounded this menacing, this threatening.

“Satan.”

“Most certainly.” A grim chuckle followed. “Oh, you have company, Tiago.”

Tiago… it reminds him of home, but the feeling is weird. As if the name belongs to someone else.

He looks up into James’ confused – but incredibly blue – eyes. “Were you talking to someone?”

“No.”

There’s that hand on his head again, and James frowns. “Are you delirious?”

Silva softly pushes his hand away. “No,” he repeats.

James gives him a disapproving look before giving him some pills, then sits down in a chair opposite him. “Swallow those,” he gestures, “they should take the edge off.”

Silva does as he’s told, but doubts it’ll make a difference – his skin might be warm, but he’s feeling perfectly fine.

“Where are you from?” James asks him as he sips his own coffee.

“Someplace far away,” Silva tells him.

“Fine, don’t tell me.”

“Are you a religious man, James?”

A snort. “Not at all.”

“I see.”

“What, are you?”

“You… could say that.”

James shrugs. “So what do you do?”

“What do I do?”

“For a living. Your job.”

“I don’t have a job.” He looks at James, who looks away from him, down at his coffee.

“What do _you_ do?”

James laughs, a little forced. “I worked with guns and dangerous men, but now I’m retired.”

“You don’t look that old,” Silva remarks.

“It was either get retired or get fired.”

Silva raises his eyebrows. “How come?”

“Broke the rules one too many times.”

Silva purses his lips. Oh, how familiar did that sound.

Out of the corner of the room sounds that voice again.

“He killed too many people.”

Silva jerks his head towards it, wondering whether James heard it or not.

“What’s wrong?” James asks him, but Silva doesn’t answer.

“I’ll be taking him when he dies,” the voice says delightedly, now from the other side; Silva directing his gaze in its direction. “Won’t you join us, Tiago? It’s not like you’ll ever get back into Heaven.”

“That’s it, I’m taking you now,” James says, getting up. “You’re acting like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Just think about it,” the voice muses, raspy and low. “Lucifer and God’s former favorite Dominion… we could have so much fun together.”

“No, I’m, I’m okay,” Silva says weakly, trying to block out the voice. “It’s really nothing.”

 

He’d managed to convince James to withstand braving the snowstorm for the time being, telling him that if it died down tomorrow, he’d come with him voluntarily.

“Maybe you’ll have died down by then, too,” James had grumbled, but he’d looked outside and perhaps he was glad he wouldn’t have to risk his life going outside again. It had been pure luck that Silva had stumbled in front of his house, otherwise no one would have ever found him until it had been too late.

When James had woken up the next morning, he’d found Silva cooking him breakfast – or more accurately, he woke up to the other man placing a tray with food on the nightstand next to him.

“Eh, what’s going on –”

“I made you breakfast.”

“…but why?”

“You’ve taken such good care of me, I thought I’d return the gesture.”

James frowned. Silva was odd, but somehow he felt drawn to him. He certainly liked him, even if he’d only known him for barely a day. He couldn’t explain it; for a man who didn’t like other human beings, he was strangely comfortable around Silva.

The food was a bit weird, but he didn’t complain. Maybe Silva never cooked at home, wherever that may be, but all the more credits to him for trying.

“Are you sure he deserves that?”

“Shut up,” Silva mumbled at the voice coming from behind him, turning around.

He was met with the full length mirror standing opposite James’ bed, a man with light blond hair staring back at him.

It seemed God had bereft him of everything that reminded him of his past life, including his once dark hair. He felt a pang of regret at seeing his own image.

“Hm?” James asked him, studying a forkful of what could be either egg or beans.

“Sorry, nothing.”

 

The storm raged on that day and so Silva and James stayed inside, talking about everything and nothing at all. At one point James had sat next to Silva on the couch, feeling his head again, apparently confused by how warm he still felt while he seemed perfectly –

“Fine, I told you, I’m fine,” Silva sighed. “I suppose I’m always this warm.”

“Alright, good, have it your way,” James had said, throwing his hands in the air. “Forgive me for being worried.”

“You don’t even know me,” Silva pointed out.

James seemed to think about this for a bit. “No, but… you’re alright. I like you. For some reason. I don’t know, there’s something about you. You’re not a random stranger on the street.”

Silva thought it best not to mention that he had been an angel, once. It would probably not go over well.

 

He stayed with James the following day, too, and the day after that, and before he knew it it had been months since he’d been forced out of Heaven, losing his wings. He could barely remember flying now, but lately his thoughts seemed to be filled with only one thing anyway.

James. James Bond, so he’d learned.

Silva wasn’t sure whether angels ever fell in love, but realization had hit him at some point that he wasn’t nor would he ever be an angel again, so it didn’t even matter what angels did or didn’t feel.

Sometimes he wondered how much time James had left. Wondered how much longer _he_ had, before going back to where he belonged.

Life as a human hadn’t been easy at first. James had unknowingly shown him what living as a middle-aged man meant, and Silva had absorbed all this new information. Pretty soon his favorite activity was sitting on the couch next to James, watching something on what was called a television.  If he was careful he could move so that James’ leg slightly touched his, but he always ended up disappointed whenever James pulled away or got up to get a beer.

James never brought over any women; but there were often nights when he stayed out and didn’t get home until the next day.

Whenever Silva was alone, awaiting his return, Lucifer’s voice would grow louder, stronger; telling him that one day James wouldn’t come home, that one day he’d take him down to Hell, where he belonged.

At first Silva had tried to talk to him, tried to convince himself that there was no way James wouldn’t be let into Heaven; but as time passed he grew tired of arguing with the Devil and he started ignoring him. Apparently Satan wasn’t all too happy with that; because his taunting soon grew to dark promises and vicious threats.

“All those people he killed… there’s no place for him but Hell.”

You’re wrong, Silva thought. James had killed in the name of God and country, all to protect British citizens.

It was as if even his own thoughts weren’t safe from him. “Has he never taken a life when he didn’t have to?”

Silva hadn’t been able to say, and so he’d asked Bond later. He’d told him that he’d ‘done what needed to be done’.

Somehow Silva hadn’t been very reassured.

“Maybe I’ll make sure _you_ get back into Heaven, then,” Satan hissed one night as James was out again. “But you can make sure I’ll take _him_. For eternity in my fires while you’re floating around up on your cloud. Now doesn’t that sound nice?”

Silva had bit back a reply and tasted blood as he cut open his lip. The Devil wasn’t going to get to him.

That night he lay on James’ bed so he’d wake up the second he came home. Eyes closed, breathing in his smell he was able to shut out Satan at least slightly and part of him wished he could stay like this forever, although another, much larger part would much rather have James by his side.

 

James doesn’t come home the next day and Silva grows restless as the clock keeps ticking without there being any sign of him. He wanders into the living room and he comes to a still, hands folded behind his back, rocking back and forth on his feet, looking around for something to distract himself with.

He wonders if James took his usual detour, picking up a bottle of their favorite scotch from the local liquor store if he passed it by. If not, where could he be? Was he still over at a woman’s place? He cringes, not even wanting to think about it.

“Maybe you should look outside,” the malign voice sounds amused, present as always.

Silva looks through the window when at that exact moment he hears James at the door, fumbling with his keys to let himself in. The sun is shining brightly outside and there’s a car driving by as James seems to have finally managed to insert the key into the lock.

Silva wants to turn around and walk towards the hallway, but then something outside catches his eye and he freezes in sheer terror.

The car windows are rolled down and something metallic appears, flashing in the sunlight, and Silva instinctively knows what’s going to happen.

The Devil’s laughter is drowned out by gunshots filling the air, and when they stop, there’s no longer movement at the door.

The silence is pressing on his ears, the high-pitched cackling dully thumping in his ears as though it’s coming from very far away. Then –

“I told you he was mine.”

Suddenly Silva is moving, into the hallway, to the front door – he yanks it open, fear racing through his heart.

A bloodied body falls inside and he catches it in his arms, sinking to his knees, struggling to breathe; every intake of breath causing a sharp pain to shoot through his body, feeling as though an iron band is tightly wrapped around his chest.

He brings a trembling hand smeared with blood to James’ lips, hoping to catch the slightest hint of breathing, but it’s futile.

He’s lost staring into those blue eyes that he’s always so admired, the light in them now extinguished, a small smile still tugging at his lips, forever unaware of what had been about to happen.

His whole body numb he’s unaware of the pain in his knees where he’s sitting in the glass shards from a bottle James had taken home with him, his own blood mingling with his.

Did angels even bleed?

“No,” he chokes, “no, please, no. Please don’t take him.”

For the first time in a long while Satan is quiet.

Silva’s fingers are touching James’ neck, his hair, stroking his cheek, brushing across his lips, tears making their way down his face. “James,” he whispers, “James, please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.”

It’s the other voice that answers. “Would you… be interested in a deal?”

Silva doesn’t even hear him.

“Tiago,” the voice grins. “You can still be with him.”

This time he gets his attention. Silva doesn’t remove his eyes from James’ still form, but he’s stopped talking.

“Come with me… I can reunite you.”

“What do you want?” His voice is shaking, but there’s not a trace of hesitation to be detected.

“Just come with me. That’s all I ask.”

“You’ll take me to him?”

“I’ll take you down to Hell.”

Silva now becomes aware of his actions, aware of his senses; although the pain in his knees is still nothing compared to the excruciating pain in his heart.

Carefully holding up James’ head his other hand reaches under James’ jacket, fingers colder than his retrieving the gun he knew he always carried with him.

Bringing the gun to his head was easy, so easy; he could practically feel an invisible force guiding his hand.

There was never a moment of doubt. As soon as the cold metal was pressed to his temple he pulled the trigger.

When he came face to face with Satan he was met with dark, uncontrollable laughter.

And he’d found James had been too good for Hell after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't know if I like this... first AU writing experience. Not sure I'd do it again, but it was an interesting experiment.


End file.
